


One year on

by Kitacular



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Bottom Porthos, Dom/sub, M/M, Ownership, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 19:24:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5677789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitacular/pseuds/Kitacular
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis struggles at the one year anniversary of Savoy. Porthos handles it badly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One year on

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit of an epilogue to my works "Healing Wounds" and "Living Together". It does stand alone but it assumes you know that Aramis and Porthos have developed a consensual Master/slave relationship. If you didn't - you do now! :)

March 1926

  
  


“Aramis! Aramis!” Porthos shouted frantically, shaking Aramis by the shoulders.

Aramis gave an almighty shriek and came rushing back to wakefulness with a series of violent shudders.

“Aramis! Hey, hey, I'm here. Shh. It's me. Come back to me,” Porthos cried, trying to get through to Aramis. He pulled Aramis up to a sitting position and shook him again, more gently.

Aramis shuddered again and burst into uncontrollable tears, slumping forwards against Porthos' body. Porthos grimaced and wrapped his arms tightly around him. He'd expected tonight to be difficult. He hadn't expected it to be this bad.

Porthos heaved Aramis into his arms and shifted on the bed until his back was against the wall. He settled Aramis on his lap and gently rocked him, stroking his back in long firm motions. It was a frighteningly long time before Aramis stopped his tortured sobs and was silently crying against his bare chest.

“Shh. I'm here. You're safe here. I've got you, love,” he murmured, feeling Aramis calming down.

“Porthos,” Aramis whispered.

“Hi,” Porthos whispered in reply. He leaned Aramis back slightly and brushed his dark waves out of his face. The crippling sadness in Aramis' eyes made Porthos want to tear his own heart out and give it to Aramis to repair his.

Aramis sighed heavily and leaned into Porthos' chest again. It was a testament to how much they'd grown over the last year that Aramis didn't apologise for upsetting him. Porthos stroked Aramis' hair in silence, feeling him falling back to sleep in his arms. He slowly lay him back down and watched him.

Aramis' normally cheerful face was creased in frowns, anguish flickering across his face as he relived that night, a year ago today. Porthos had expected bad dreams and some tears but not this.

He was furious with himself. The last year together had been so perfect and wonderful that he'd underestimated the effect the one year anniversary of Savoy would have. They'd talked about it the previous day and Aramis had admitted it was playing on his mind. All day today he'd been quieter than normal. Athos had commented and suggested they went out to a tavern. Porthos had scuppered those plans, knowing Aramis would need to be at home.

The thought made him angrier still. He'd known then it was going to be a tough night. It's why he'd asked for a couple of days leave either side. Now he had been taken by surprise by this level of reaction, despite knowing all the risks. He flopped down on his back beside Aramis' restless form and pulled him gently onto his chest. He resumed stroking Aramis' back. Porthos sighed, wanting more than anything to protect Aramis. His own memories of that day still haunted him but, unlike Aramis, the pain he had felt was healed by having Aramis close. The people Aramis was imagining dead really were. Porthos swore to himself he would look after Aramis properly now.

Aramis woke just as dawn was breaking and he swallowed. His throat was raw, his head was pounding and it felt as if someone had poured sand in his eyes. He felt Porthos' hand moving on his back and turned over to find him propped up on one elbow.

Porthos' eyes were red and Aramis knew him well enough to recognise he'd barely slept, if at all. Aramis was too tired to feel even slightly guilty about the look of sadness in his eyes. They'd spent a year seeing the best and the worst of each other.

“With me?” asked Porthos softly. Aramis nodded. Porthos drew him into his arms and kissed the top of his hair. “Worse than I expected,” he whispered, holding Aramis tightly.

Aramis gently leaned back so he could look at Porthos.

“Me too,” he croaked. He gently rubbed his throat.

“I'm going to get you some water. Wait there,” Porthos said softly, climbing over him and disappearing out the door.

Porthos was surprised to feel Aramis following him into the small kitchen in their apartments.

“You must be tired,” Porthos said, handing him a cup of clean water. “Go back to bed and try to sleep a bit more.”

“Am I so pitiful?” asked Aramis quietly. Porthos froze.

“No! Why would you say such a thing?” he said, stepping towards him but Aramis held up his hands. Porthos stopped uncertainly.

“You attempt to care for me like a child?” Aramis said, quieter still. Porthos felt a sinking feeling.

“I'm just worried about you,” Porthos said, not meeting Aramis' eyes. Aramis drained the cup of water and cleared his throat.

“While I appreciate the concern, Porthos, I thought you and I had spent the last year establishing ourselves. We take equal care of each other. We protect each other equally. Do you know what I'm going to say next?” Aramis asked, still quietly. He was leaning imperiously against the archway to the kitchen.

Porthos continued to look at the floor, a burning beginning in his stomach.

“No,” he murmured, his mouth dry.

“No what?” snapped Aramis, making Porthos jump.

“No, Sire,” Porthos said, a slight tremble in his voice.

“We are **not**  equal,” Aramis said flatly.

There was a long tense silence. Aramis handed the empty cup back to Porthos who refilled it and handed it back without a word.

“Come on,” Aramis said, tiredly and walked to his armchair by the fire.

They'd moved their furniture around since making such good friends with Athos. There was now a large high backed sofa with tall winged arms side on to the hearth. It was rather extravagant but Athos had contributed to the cost since he often visited with them now. Aramis' chair had been moved to face the fire head on and Porthos' was to the side, facing the sofa.

Aramis pointed at the rug in front of his chair and walked into the bedroom on his own. Porthos' stomach clenched and the realisation of what he'd done settled on his shoulders like a heavy yoke. He slid to his knees in the spot indicated, facing Aramis' chair and felt the sting behind his eyes.

Aramis sat on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. He rubbed his temples. He really wasn't in the mood for this but he'd invested too much time and energy into carving out these rules for Porthos for them to be thrown out the window. Porthos knew better and he needed to realise just how insulting it was. It would do more damage to their relationship to let it go. Porthos needed to understand that Aramis drew strength from owning him and if he just let it go then Porthos will lose confidence in him.

He considered it would probably do him good to regain his equilibrium by making Porthos understand. He threw on a shirt and pulled his underclothes on. They were like armour. Anything to highlight the discrepancy in power between them would help.

Aramis returned to their living quarters and glanced at Porthos. He was kneeling motionless in front of Aramis' chair. Aramis attended to his morning needs and refilled the water cup before settling in his armchair. He watched Porthos' body lean towards him as he moved, quite without thought.

“If you need to use the wash room, do so now,” Aramis said softly. Porthos hesitated uncertainly, not wanting to leave him.

“Go and be quick,” Aramis said, bluntly. Porthos nodded gratefully and rose smoothly, loping off.

Aramis ran his hands over his face. He remembered Porthos needing specific instructions and orders when he was frightened. As he thought about it, tightening the reins on Porthos usually calmed him down, too.

Porthos returned and hesitated on the edge of the rug. Seeing Aramis had gotten dressed, he wondered if he should have done so. Aramis clicked his fingers impatiently and Porthos slipped back to his knees at his feet.

Aramis handed him the cup of water. He was pleased to see Porthos was so nervous. Getting dressed had definitely helped.

“Drink,” he said curtly.

Porthos took it nervously and sipped it. Realising he was genuinely thirsty, he took another large mouthful. He licked his dry lips and felt himself calming down. His calm was shattered when Aramis held his hand out for the cup. He handed it over and found he suddenly didn't know what to do with his hands.

“Porthos,” Aramis said quietly. “I am tired. I have a lot on my mind. This is the last thing I want to be doing. Shut up,” he snapped, seeing Porthos about to respond.

Porthos swallowed hard and felt himself begin to tremble.

“I thought you and I had spent this last year cementing the fact that you belong to me. I thought you'd accepted me as your owner. I thought you knew that. I thought that meant something to you. I thought you genuinely respected me. That your position here, at my feet, was where you wanted to be,” Aramis said quietly, watching Porthos swallowing nervously.

“Spread your legs,” Aramis said softly. Porthos awkwardly complied without rising off his knees.

Aramis stood and pushed his chair back, the loud noise of it scraping across the floor making Porthos shiver.

Aramis sank to a crouch in front of Porthos. He stroked a fingertip over the well worn leather strap buckled around Porthos' knee. He ran his finger up along Porthos' thigh and pressed the scarred lines forming a perfect 'A' on his thigh. Aramis had cut his mark into Porthos regularly enough over the last year that his initial was clear even when, like now, they were healed.

“I see a mark showing you're mine. I see a collar showing you're mine. I see you on your knees as if you were mine. Why am I doubting that you believe it, Porthos?” he asked silkily. “You may answer.”

“I don't, Master. I don't doubt it,” Porthos said in a rush.

Aramis' hand shot out and yanked his hair, pulling his head back painfully.

“Answer my question. I didn't tell you to say anything else,” Aramis hissed dangerously. He let go of Porthos' hair, casually throwing him to the floor.

Porthos landed on his hands and gasped, tears springing to his eyes. He could feel Aramis circling him and the anger radiating off Aramis made him shiver.

“You... you doubt my understanding of your ownership of me because I... I...” Porthos felt tears beginning to fall.

“Yes?” snapped Aramis.

“I disobeyed your rule about leaving your side, Master. I gave you an instruction instead of a suggestion.” Porthos said, his anguish clear in his voice.

“You insulted me, Porthos,” Aramis said abruptly. He heard Porthos hiss in a breath as if wounded.

“You assumed that I wasn't going to be able to fulfil my position as your owner because I was upset. You treated me like a child, not like your master,” Aramis said coldly, circling Porthos who hadn't raised off his hands and knees.

“I don't believe you forgot, Porthos, though I assume that's what you think happened. Is it?” he asked, looking down at Porthos. Porthos nodded fervently without looking up.

“I do believe you think that. You are wrong, though. Deep down, you thought you were doing me a service. You thought that asking me permission for something would be a burden. You still, a year later, think that owning you is a duty and you sought to relieve me of that. You made the decision that since I was struggling so much, you would lift that weight off my shoulders.”

Aramis crouched again and lifted Porthos' chin with his fingertip. Porthos' eyes were shining with tears. Aramis could read the sorrow and remorse in them.

“Think carefully. Is that part of why you disobeyed me, Porthos?” Aramis asked.

Porthos dropped his eyes. Aramis tugged his chin a little higher and Porthos reluctantly dragged his eyes back to meet Aramis'. He winced and nodded reluctantly.

“Don't ever do it again, Porthos. Don't ever think you have the right to cease being my property without my input. Don't ever doubt my commitment to you, Porthos,” Aramis said quietly, his eyes softening.

Porthos whimpered softly and pleaded with Aramis silently.

“No. You may not speak,” said Aramis standing up. “I assume you want to apologise. I can see that in your face and I accept the apology. I understand your actions had good intentions but they were extremely misguided.”

Porthos whimpered again.

“I can also imagine you were frightened and lonely because I was so far gone, my love,” Aramis continued.

Porthos relaxed at the affectionate term, knowing his anger had passed. He nodded guiltily, hating to lay any sort of blame on Aramis' anguish.

“Next time that happens, I expect you to tell me. If it's not the right time, you just keep calm. Cling to the leather collar on your leg, my mark on your thigh. Wait it out and then talk to me. That's how you can support me, my love,” Aramis said, more softly.

He reached down and stroked Porthos' bowed head. Porthos leaned into it unconsciously.

“You need to be my property, my love. That's how you feel safe, warm and protected. I need to be your owner. That's how I feel safe, warm and, yes, protected. There's a reason I joke with you about having a personal guard dog. I know that when I look after you, you look after me. We just do it different ways. Do you understand, my boy?”

“Yes, Master,” whispered Porthos, tears falling again.

“Then let's go back to bed, my darling,” Aramis said tenderly.

When Porthos made to stand up, Aramis placed a hand on his shoulder. Porthos crawled behind Aramis to the bedroom and knelt upright in his usual place by the bed. Aramis sat down on the bed and reached for him.

Porthos followed his hands and laid his head on Aramis' lap. Aramis stroked his hair gently.

“I take comfort from your obedience and our rituals, Porthos. Come to bed, my boy,” he murmured.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts and requests always welcome at kitacularao3 at gmaildotcom :D


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